The Master Trap
by AxOforever
Summary: When Obi-Wan meets Owen, a boy the same age as him who looks scarily similar and shares quite the same past, the two make the decision to switch places for the week-at Qui-Gon's behest. Naturally, chaos ensues as Obi-Wan learns about a past he doesn't want to know and Owen learns secrets he doesn't want to hear. Yes, the title is a play on words with The Parent Trap. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**I totally just teased all of you waiting for an update on Captured Heart—it's coming! Trust me, soon. I know, I know; I have three other stories that need updating (four if you count ALITS) and I start another one? Well, this one wouldn't let me go! So enjoy this fresh new piece while it's still hot!**

Obi-Wan Kenobi liked to think nothing surprised him.

He was utterly mistaken, of course; three years of being apprenticed to the not-so-rule-abiding Qui-Gon Jinn had proven him very, very wrong. Aside from having one of the wilder Masters in the Temple, his Jedi training allowed for him to keep calm in situations that most beings would have been panicking in, or from startling from a sharp noise or jolt. Garen and Bant often teased him on the subjecting, stating that his seriousness and perpetual composure kept him from having fun. "If we ever threw you a surprise party, you'd know a week before and would be the first to show up," Bant constantly said between laughs, to which Obi-Wan would reply that surprise parties were not encouraged among Jedi, earning him either a smack, eye roll or a pillow thrown at his head depending on the location. The padawan always met the teasing with the argument that he didn't like surprises if he wasn't expecting them, earning him yet another of the three aforementioned choices.

After spending a month of nothing but mud and rain, several ambushes and untrustworthy contacts, tenuously rebuilding trust among the warring clans and weaving a fragile alliance between the leaders, the two Jedi had left the dreary planet of Denoskar V severely disheartened. It had only taken one single sentence of refusal (not to mention a terrorist bomber making her way into their meeting) to bring all their hard work crashing down. It was no shock to the older man that his padawan was in an exceptionally foul mood, scowling and pacing with his arms folded on the shuttle back to Coruscant. Thoroughly tired, thoroughly discouraged and thoroughly caked in mud, Qui-Gon had halfheartedly offered a small praise of his apprentice's growing negotiating skills, and when that didn't lift the boy's spirit he promised a trip to visit Obi-Wan's friend Dexter at the diner he ran—Force knew why the boy wanted to eat there. Anything even related to food was equal to half his weight in fat, and non-too healthy to say the least. The Master had suggested many times that not _every_ dish had to consist almost entirely of grease, to no avail—this Dexter character clearly had never heard of the word "nutrition". Obi-Wan, after demanding they stop by their quarters after the regular mission report to the Council to rinse off in the 'fresher, had made him swear to behave before even setting foot in the establishment, with much grumbling and groaning on Qui-Gon's part. It was all for naught when he was drowned out by the booming voice of his padawan's Besalisk friend, said padawan grinning from ear to ear.

Following a rough, draining mission with a surprise was not what Obi-Wan wanted. The Force had other plans.

* * *

Owen Kenobi loved to be surprised.

Growing up as the youngest of three in a rather poor family was challenging, and surprises usually meant good things like toys and sweets when he was younger. At sixteen years, he was too old for those certain surprises to excite him. Excelling in musical talents, for example, hadn't. Stewjon was a peaceful planet which centered around the arts; their food, their transportation, their clothing, their very lifestyle. Every child was expected to grow up to be a writer, artist, musician, political speaker, or some other form of self-expression career. They were encouraged to express themselves at early ages, and were considered disappointments if they failed at any and all artistic passion, subsequently shunned in the process. A child's parents influenced them greatly, so it came as a surprise when the youngest son of artist Breta Kenobi and journalist Ollen Kenobi showed interest in music, with both his older sisters—escpecially Brena, who giddily announced she was going to try to become a blogger for the HoloNet—pursuing journalism like their father.

Earning a scholarship to the finest academy of arts on Coruscant was a welcome surprise. Learning he had a twin brother—not so much.

Owen had always known the family was keeping a secret from him. Every few months one of his sisters or parents would slip up, saying _"The other baby" _or "_Obi—Owen. I said Owen, sweetie,"_. The relatives spoke in hushed tones about his birth, and only when they thought he wasn't around. Every holopic from around the first year of his life seemed to have a rip or had been cut straight down the center or right after his image ended. One of his earliest memories was finding one his mother hadn't gotten to yet.

_"Momma, come 'ere!" Little four-year-old Owen waved a holopic in his chubby toddler hand. Breta smiled tiredly and wiped her hands on her skirt, bending down to her son's eye level. "There's two of me!"_

_Panic froze her as she quickly snatched the holo out of his hands, scanning the one, _one_ document she must have missed. Laughing anxiously, Betra hastily explained that he was standing in front of a mirror. Owen peeked over the edge of the holo and pointed to the other "him". _

_"But that me's shirt is blue. I'm wearing green." The toddler couldn't understand why his mother couldn't see the obvious color difference._

_"It's a special mirror," Breta assured, cramming the holo in the pocket of her apron, "Let's keep the special mirror a secret, okay?"_

Yes, Owen had had his suspicions long before his sending-off celebration, where his parents had revealed his elusive twin moments before he left for the Academy. Normally, he would have been fine with learning he had a long-long brother, and would have eagerly sought him out. As soon as he expressed his desire to do so, however, out came the story of just _why_ his brother Obi-Wan hadn't been part of the family for fourteen years. Rumors floated around his school about the mystical Jedi—there was that kid in fourth year who'd jumped off the roof of the building believing he had the Farce or whatever it was—his father used to tell him bedtime stories about the light-stick wielding warriors, for kriff's sake. But his _brother? _A _Jedi?_ The story about the hooded men coming to take the boy away? Unreal.

For the next two years on Coruscant, Owen almost forgot about his sibling. Schoolwork kept him busy, and he had performed a few times since arriving—once at the Senate building. Although he kept in touch with his parents and sisters, the name Obi-Wan was never mentioned again. Owen made plenty of friends who he hung around with a lot. But every time he walked past the Jedi Temple, or glanced at it looming in the distance from his quarters, he couldn't help but wonder if his brother was in one if those rooms, if he looked hard enough then could he see him? Owen pushed it back many times, but part of him held a burning desire to find out if they looked alike, if his twin liked Shockball or muja fruit, how well he could use the lightsaber the famed Jedi carried. Now, hopping onto one of the many skytrams, Owen briefly glanced at the enormous structure before a tunnel blocked his view. It was midday meal this fine, clear day, and his stomach was telling him to make use of the free period. A couple of buddies had told him about a great place down in Coco Town called Dex's Diner, which he'd been dying to try out. He had a strangely good feeling as he walked through the doors, like today was a special day.

Lost in the see of patrons, Owen didn't expect anything like a surprise during his meal. He couldn't sense it, but the Force had other plans.

**I know Wookiepedia says Obi-Wan is the oldest and is from a moderately wealthy family, but what fun would that plot be? Please leave a review on what you think will happen! Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

"I still cannot understand why you enjoy eating here."

Obi-Wan merely rolled his eyes at his Master's comment; after three years, he knew enough about Qui-Gon's sense of humor to know that the words were said good-naturedly, albeit with some –or all—truth. The Jedi Master had never really approved of his apprentice's friendship with Dexter Jettster, the four-armed proprietor of the diner which the boy was so fond of, as the two had met in the alley behind another former establishment the Besalisk had owned as a cover for running guns. Still, his padawan deserved to have a small treat after the long and arduous mission they had just endured; even Qui-Gon would admit it was one of the more difficult ones in their Master/padawan relationship.

Grinning, Obi-Wan responded with, "Because you promised, Master, and a Jedi never breaks his promise." Cheeky padawan.

"Hmm, there are a few exceptions to the rules," Qui-Gon rumbled, using the Force to draw a packet of sauce from the pile stacked against the edge of the table, "For instance, if a certain padawan happened to get sauce all over his tunic…"

The padawan in question waggled a finger. "Don't you dare. I've already had to get two tunics cleaned because of your inability to sit through one meal here, and I'm not adding this set to the pile."

"We'll see about that."

The smell of cheap, greasy food and a blast of cold air from the cooling unit greeted him as he entered the diner. It was small, to say the least, modeled after some kind of star ship with a scattered crowd of customers. Owen couldn't tell if business was slow that day or if this was the usual amount of patrons, but it looked good enough for a quick bite. He sat himself down at one of the booths, right behind a tall human with long grey hair, raising an eyebrow as he overheard small snippets of the conversation, where the man behind him moaned about how fattening and greasy the food was—well that wasn't appetizing at all. Wondering if he should have gone to _Biscuit Baron_ across the airway, Owen slipped his schooling datapad out from his pack and placed the pack on the floor, intent on studying for his test in Galactic History while he waited for the service droid to hurry up already. He lost himself in the din of the crowded restaurant, frowning faintly at the complaining of the man behind him. Thankfully, he got up to go to the 'fresher after a few moments and let Owen study in peace.

Obi-Wan scanned the menu briefly. "Sliders, protato wedges and a glass of ardees, please."

"Sure thing, sweetheart," WA-7, Dexter's primary waitress droid, intoned in her monotonous voice program, "You want pickled gartro eggs on that?"

"No, thanks." The padawan shook his head; no matter how many times he ordered the same dish, every blasted time, the droid never remembered his revulsion to the Coruscanti delicacy. The droid wheeled away to the next table, the shock of aurburn all he could see of the boy sitting there, pouring over a datapad. Probably a student cramming for an exam minutes after his lunch break. Honestly, some people had the worst study habits. The Jedi apprentice went back fidgeting with the sauce packet Qui-Gon nearly emptied onto his clean tunic. Something felt odd in the Force, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Owen glanced up from his work as the waitress droid—_finally_—arrived and greeted him in that flat voice they gave all droids. Just in time; his stomach was painfully empty, and he had only an hour until his final. "Cup of ardees, sliders and protato wedges," he said rapidly, going back to the work at hand. The droid was silent for a moment, as confused as a droid could seem.

"Didn't I already get you?"

"Er, no, I don't think so. Oh, and a side of gartro eggs, please."

Something must have been wrong with its programming; the droid craned her "head" to look at the table behind him, then back at the student. "Uh huh. Coming right up."

Owen flashed her a fake grin; he knew he should have gone to the _Biscuit Baron_.

By now, Qui-Gon had been in the 'fresher for a few moments, and his hunger was beginning to take over. Obi-Wan carefully stacked the sauce packets on the table in a neat little tower to alleviate his boredom. WA-7 maneuvered back to his booth. "Food'll be here in a second, those eggs are taking a little while."

The Jedi-in-training's eyebrows crinkled. "I didn't order any eggs," he protested.

"If you say so, honey." WA-7 went to greet a new pair of customers heading in through the doorway, leaving the padawan frowning behind. Owen was getting a bit impatient; patience was never his strong suit. He had to be back at campus in little more than a half hour. Catching sight of the service droid showing a couple over to a booth, Owen leaned over and tapped the droid when it passed him. "'Scuse me," the thoroughly-hungry student interrupted, "Is my food almost done?"

"Should be, without the eggs."

"But I wanted eggs."

"Honey, make up your mind," the droid said snappishly. Owen shook his head; maybe he should skip lunch today. The droids here obviously needed maintenance done, there seemed to be no hopeful prospect of food any time soon, and the boy behind him was shouting through the din of the lunch crowd. Owen had half a mind to turn around and yell for him to shut up before he _made_ him shut up. Lunatic.

Obi-Wan watched, puzzled, as his Master exited the restrooms and headed for the booth in front of them. Was the man daft? His padawan was sitting in plain sight, for Force's sake! And there he was, strolling over to the other table like he belonged there. The padawan tried to call his attention over, but Qui-Gon seemed intent on exasperating someone else for a change.

Owen glanced up as a man slid into the seat across from him, then did a double-take as he realised he most definitely did _not_ know him. The other man exhaled noisily as he sat down, eyes closed in thought.

"Can I help you?" Owen asked, thoroughly confused and starting to wonder if the man was a bit off his rocker. The man looked at him like he'd lost his mind—like _Owen_ was the one that didn't belong there!—and frowned.

"Well, you're my padawan, young one, I should be the one helping you," he smirked, as if this entire conversation was one vast inside joke.

Slowly, Owen pulled up the emergency Coruscanti Police number on his datapad that would send a signal for them in case the man was truly insane. "Sorry—padawan?"

The man's frown deepened, before he leaned over the table and peered closely at Owen, whose thumb hovered above the emergency number. His eyes widened in realisation, that this indeed was _not _his table and he most certainly had _not_ met Owen before. Shocked eyes flickered to the booth behind him, his face turning ashen as they returned to Owen's face. "What in the—"

"Master!" Obi-Wan hurried over to apologise for Qui-Gon's strange behavior to the poor boy who was caught in the middle of the Jedi Master's odd ways, "I've been calling you for ages! This isn't you table, leave the poor boy alone! I'm sorry, he can be a bit—"

He never finished his sentence, for the padawan had finally caught sight of the other boy's face and was now returning his slack-jawed expression.

**This is really not my best work and I'm sorry for the delay! I've been having trouble writing Star Wars recently (you'll know if you've been following my other story Captured Heart) and I'm hoping by updating some of my forgotten ideas I can get back on track. Next chapter will probably come sooner than this one did. Any suggestions, comments, criticisms, etc., are always welcome! **


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